The Shatterproof Magician (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 4)

by Sarah Noffke

  “Yes,” he affirmed with a kind smile. “The world has changed, and yet, we haven’t at FGA. I’ve been fighting to adapt old practices and met with much contention.” Saint Valentine’s light expression fell away. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong to want things to change.”

  “But they should,” Paris countered with conviction. “I mean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak out of turn.”

  He grinned at her. “I think you should.”

  Paris swallowed, mustering courage. “Well, I want to be a fairy godmother. I really do, but I feel like we’re using an old manual, and it needs updating for the modern age. We focus on creating matches for the elite and famous, but I want to create love for all. Also, dating has changed, but we haven’t. I think there are so many things we could do differently, but of course, I’m only a young mixed-up halfling who gets herself in trouble more than she fixes things.”

  He chuckled again, a nice sound. “I think sometimes we have to create a bit of trouble to fix things. Sometimes things have to be broken so we throw them out and start over with something new.”

  “So you think I’m right?” Paris asked.

  Saint Valentine thought for a moment. “I think that I need to keep an open mind. Change can’t happen overnight. That would be unwise, both out of respect for tradition and because many are stuck and need time to adapt. Also, strategy should be a part of the equation. Not all of the fairy godmother’s practices are bad because they’re old. For me, I think that a new generation of fairy godmothers who don’t fit the old cookie-cutter shape would be good. A nice mix of old and new. Of tradition and modern thinking. In that way, we can complement each other’s best attributes.”

  Paris smiled. “I like that idea.”

  Saint Valentine nodded. “Me too, but we’ll see how it happens. I have the board to convince, and they aren’t the most open-minded.” He winked at her. “Some aren’t as flexible in their old age as me.”

  Paris laughed easily, grateful that this man was Saint Valentine. There were a lot of things that she believed needed to happen to bring the fairy godmothers into the twenty-first century, but she thought that there were only opportunities ahead, especially with a man like this in charge.

  “I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself,” he continued. “I realize now that I never formally did that.” Extending an elegant hand to her, Saint Valentine steadied his cane with his other one. “I’m Saint Valentine, and it is a delight to meet you, Paris Beaufont.”

  Paris blushed as she took his hand, allowing him to bring it to his lips and kiss it politely. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Releasing her hand, Saint Valentine looked at her intently. “I know that you’re receiving a lot of attention and not the kind that most would want. I also wanted to take this opportunity to tell you that Matters of the Heart fully supports Headmistress Starr and her decision to educate you. I’ve also heard of your work on the recent missions. Your approaches, while unconventional, are very intriguing.”

  Picking up his cane and pointing at her with it, Saint Valentine’s eyes twinkled. “I’m going to keep an eye on you, our halfling godmother. I think you’ll go on to do great things, and my job will be to ensure that you have all the resources to grow and spread your wings so you can achieve greatness.”

  Paris suddenly felt so much better than before. She was grateful her secrets had come out and that she’d had this opportunity to show herself to Saint Valentine. Also, to hear his encouraging words. She now knew that everything would be okay—as long as the man before her remained in power at FGA, that was.

  Their fond moment was immediately interrupted by running footsteps. Both of them tensed and turned to the hallway. A moment later, Wilfred burst into the conservatory, his eyes urgent.

  “Saint Valentine,” the magitech AI butler began in a rush.

  Saint Valentine and Paris bolted upright off the couch.

  “Yes, Wilfred? What is it?” Saint Valentine read the urgency exuding from the butler.

  “It’s one of your agents from Matter of the Heart,” Wilfred said, his voice not as steady as usual. “He is dead. It appears to be from poison.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  All of the students were being ushered out of the dining hall by the staff. However, because Paris rushed in beside Saint Valentine, she was able to get into the crime scene.

  She’d never seen a dead body. It was surreal and startling and strange all at the same time. The reason for the strangeness was that the agent from Matters of the Heart was face-down in soup and appeared to have drowned in the shallow bowl.

  Saint Valentine halted, looking with wide eyes at the dead agent at the abandoned dining room table. Gathered around were other agents from FGA, Headmistress Starr, Chef Ash, and Hemingway.

  “How do you know it was poison?” Saint Valentine keenly studied the crime scene while keeping a safe distance.

  Chef Ash pointed at the soup. “That’s not what I served. I don’t know what’s in it, but I know that’s not the right color of the vegetable puree.” He indicated other bowls of abandoned soup in various places. “Compare it with those others.”

  The other bowls were an orangish hue, whereas the one the agent had his face in was slightly purplish.

  “Who would have done such a thing?” Saint Valentine looked at the headmistress for answers.

  Willow looked utterly beside herself, her traumatized eyes pinned on the dead body. “I really don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened.”

  “You mean, nothing like this ever happened before certain students were allowed into the school,” Agent Ruby said smoothly, his gaze unmistakably on Paris. All eyes darted to her.

  Before she could defend herself, Saint Valentine stepped forward. “Paris was with me when this happened.”

  “She could have poisoned the soup before she left with you,” Agent Topaz offered.

  “Yeah, because not all eyes were on me the entire time I’ve been at dinner,” Paris retorted sarcastically. “I kind of was the center of attention, unfortunately, even with Saint Valentine in attendance.”

  “Who was sitting right there,” Chef Ash said in a startled voice as the realization suddenly dawned on him. He pointed at the seat where the dead agent still perched.

  Willow gasped. Paris drew in a breath. Saint Valentine narrowed his blue eyes and nodded.

  “You’re right,” he affirmed. “Agent Opal must have accidentally taken my seat when I left, thinking it was his.”

  “Which means that the poisoner intended the soup for you,” Hemingway added, pure shock written on his face.

  Agent Ruby shook his head and clicked his tongue. “How disturbing. This is unprecedented.”

  “It is,” Willow agreed, visibly still shaking. “I don’t know what protocol is for this type of thing.”

  “I do,” Paris cut in.

  Agent Topaz nodded. “Why am I not surprised?”

  She glanced at him. “My uncle is a detective for the Fairy Law Enforcement Agency.”

  “Adopted uncle, I’m guessing,” Agent Ruby said flatly.

  No one knew or could know that Uncle John wasn’t a fairy. It would blow his cover, which was also keeping Alicia’s story under wraps until Liv could take back her position as a Warrior for the House of Fourteen. Therefore, Paris simply had to ignore this statement.

  “I don’t think it’s relevant how they are related.” Hemingway turned to Paris. “Can you call your uncle to investigate?”

  “I’ve already done that,” Wilfred said from the entryway. “It made the most logical sense and was what I assumed the headmistress would order once the shock wore off.”

  “Good.” Willow sighed. “We will need to open up a guest portal for Detective Nicholson.”

  “I’ve already taken care of that,” Wilfred stated.

  “Well, it appears that as usual, you have everything under control, Willow,” Saint Valentine said, the picture of poise even standing next to
a dead body. “I trust you will relay all details directly to my office once the investigation is underway.”

  She nodded while knitting her hands together.

  “I also assume that Detective Nicholson will take care of the body and all.” Saint Valentine still looked intently at Willow.

  She nodded again.

  “Then I think it best that I take my leave,” Saint Valentine stated. “I’m not sure why someone would want me dead, but I trust that extreme measures will be in place from here on out.”

  “Sir, I think that under the circumstances, we might consider closing the school,” Agent Ruby stated. “There’s a killer in our midst.”

  Saint Valentine shook his head. “There’s a coward for sure. Poison is the coward’s murder weapon.”

  “We can’t shut down the school,” Willow argued. “The students shouldn’t be negatively affected by this.”

  “What if it’s one of them who did this?” Agent Topaz countered.

  “Strangely enough, this only happened once agents infiltrated the school,” Paris boldly challenged.

  “Strangely enough,” Agent Ruby echoed smugly, “this happened when someone with demon blood entered our college.”

  “Yes, and it was you who announced this information to the entire class,” Paris remarked and stood straighter. She knew someone was setting her up. It had to be, but she needed more information. “Brilliant timing, right before something scandalous happened.”

  “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Miss Beaufont,” Agent Ruby said in a cutting tone.

  “I think it’s quite clear,” Paris replied. “What motive did you have for sharing my secret with the school? A secret that was shared with you by the Montgomery family, who aren’t quiet about wanting me out of Happily Ever After College.”

  “The Montgomery family wants what’s best for the college,” Agent Ruby stated. “And there is zero way an agent is behind this treachery. Murder simply isn’t in our being. Fairies create love. It is magicians who are notorious for creating wars.”

  “Magicians create order. We create change based on evolving ideas,” Paris argued. “From my observations, there are a lot at FGA who are resistant to such things, especially if they lose control.”

  Agent Ruby sighed impatiently. “Again, Miss Beaufont, fairies simply aren’t capable of murder.”

  “That’s false,” a familiar voice said from the entryway.

  Paris turned to find one of her favorite people striding over. Uncle John looked so out of place based on where she was used to seeing him, but he was the most welcome sight. His long brown trench coat billowed out behind him as he made his way over to the group.

  His kind eyes skirted to Paris, a slight look of comfort in them before he focused on Saint Valentine. “I’m Detective Nicholson, and I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure this is very disturbing for you.”

  Saint Valentine nodded, although still the pillar of strength.

  Uncle John ran his hands through his white hair as he looked at the dead body at the table. “Although I know fairies prefer to focus on love and positive emotions, I’m sorry to inform you that outside of Happily Ever After College and FGA, quite a few criminals belong to our magical race. Actually, because fairies tend to be governed by their emotions, they have a tendency toward desperate acts.”

  “That’s simply unfathomable,” Agent Ruby refuted. “If that were the case, we’d know about it at FGA.”

  “How would you with your head stuck in the sand and your obsession with only focusing on matchmaking for the famous and elite?” Paris challenged.

  All eyes swiveled to her. Agent Ruby winced as if she’d whipped him with her remark.

  Before he said anything, Saint Valentine held up a hand, pausing the two’s argument. “It’s true that acts of violence would go unnoticed by the Matters of the Heart office or anything I govern. I suspect that FLEA has a much better grasp of such instances.”

  “I can take over from here.” Uncle John pulled a vial from his jacket pocket.

  “I’m not sure how comfortable I feel with the detective on this case having a connection to one of the suspects,” Agent Ruby said bitterly.

  “Paris isn’t a suspect,” Willow argued. “Saint Valentine stated that she was with him in the other room when Agent Opal was poisoned. There’s simply no evidence to support such a notion.”

  Uncle John nodded, using a dropper to fill the vial with the supposedly poisoned soup. “All are assumed innocent until proven guilty. I will need to question everyone present when the murder happened privately.”

  He turned his attention to Saint Valentine. “Since you and Paris appear to have been the only ones not here, I will need one of you to take this vial for testing. Timing is crucial, and the longer there’s a delay, the less viable the results.”

  Saint Valentine nodded and leaned on his cane. “I am fine with Paris taking the vial—”

  “Sir, I must object,” Agent Ruby interrupted. “There is simply too much speculation around the halfling.”

  “Again, agent, Paris isn’t a suspect,” Saint Valentine stated. “She is a change agent. She is an obstacle to those who prefer the status quo at FGA. But she is definitely not a murderer. Since my life as leader of FGA is in danger, I’m going back to Matters of the Heart at once.” He gave Paris a sturdy expression. “I trust you can deliver the vial so that the investigation can proceed.”

  “Yes,” Uncle John stated. “Paris knows the shop on Roya Lane and can get it there quickly. Only the potions master at the Rose Apothecary can tell us the composition of that poison and hopefully how and who made it.”

  Agent Ruby’s gaze flickered to Agent Topaz and Saint Valentine. “Well, if that’s the decision, I say we get going. The sooner this investigation is conducted, the sooner we can get answers. I, for one, am not at all comfortable knowing there’s a murderer in our midst.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  It had been many years since Paris had been in the Rose Apothecary. She had little reason to enter the shop located next to Heals Pills, which she now knew was owned by her Aunt Sophia and King Rudolf Sweetwater. However, since time was of the essence, Paris kept her head down as she passed Heals Pills, hoping not to be diverted by the fae’s antics or delayed by Ramy Vance accidentally killing himself.

  The smell of sulfur and oranges was strong in the air when Paris entered the Rose Apothecary. It was such a strange combination that Paris didn’t know whether to plug her nose or take in the odor out of curiosity.

  The potion shop was mostly bare-bones with an open floor and the products lining shelves along the walls. On the far side of the store, two women looked up—one Paris recognized and one that she almost didn’t. It had been a long time since she’d seen Bep, the potions master at the Rose Apothecary. This wasn’t Paris’ first time to run evidence from a detective case to Bep, although it had been a while.

  The woman tilted her head, her short brown curls flopping to the side. She seemed to recognize Paris but not place her.

  “Do you owe me money?” Bep asked her as Paris strode over to the counter where she sat.

  “No, but she owes me money,” Lee, the assassin baker, said from beside Bep and crossed her arms.

  Paris scoffed at the co-owner of the Crying Cat Bakery. “No, I don’t. What are you talking about?”

  “Remember I did that one thing for you,” Lee said critically.

  “You let me use your shop to portal out of Roya Lane,” Paris stated. “Is that what you mean?”

  “No, remember I took care of that little problem for you,” Lee explained. “Now that guy who yelled at your herd of alpacas is sleeping with the fishes.”

  “First of all, I hope you didn’t kill someone for that,” Paris began. “Second, I don’t have any alpacas.”

  “Why don’t you have alpacas?” Bep asked as if that was suddenly a burning question for her. “They are devilishly helpful animals. So many parts of them are useful in magical spel
ls, from their saliva to their hair.”

  “How do you get alpaca saliva…you know what, never mind.” Paris waved off the potions maker, returning her focus to Lee, too curious not to pursue this conversation. “We’re only tabling this alpaca topic for a moment. First off, I’m here on official detective business for FLEA.”

  Lee’s hands went for something in her back pocket. “We can make this hard or difficult, but I won’t go down without a fight.”

  Paris shook her head. “No, I’m not here to investigate you. Hold your horses for a moment, and I’ll get to you later.”

  “I don’t have horses because they make the worst getaway vehicle,” Lee mumbled, kicking at the floor. “I’m saving up for a stand up elliptical bike.”

  Even though Paris knew that the vial of poisoned soup needed immediate evaluation, she couldn’t help herself. Blinking at Lee, she said, “Why would you use that giant contraption as a getaway vehicle? That has to be way worse than a horse. Why not get a bike?”

  Lee shrugged. “I don’t like spandex. And I don’t want to ride anything. It feels unnatural. Instead, with a stand up elliptical bike, I feel like it’s riding me.”

  “Again, I’m putting a pin in that conversation. First, Detective Nicholson needs Bep’s expertise.” She pulled the vial from her pocket and handed it to Bep. “He asked that you run tests on that for composition and anything else that you can determine about who made it.”

  Lee’s eyes widened, and a grin spread on her face. “Oh, there’s been a muuurrrrrder. Since we know it wasn’t me this time, can I play detective too? I have a brand new magnifying glass.”

  “Thanks, Sherlock, but I think we’re good.” Paris shook her head. “I don’t think it’s wise to indirectly admit that you didn’t do this murder, meaning you aren’t innocent of others.”

  Lee rolled her eyes. “You’re just like your aunt. Sophia was always like, ‘Stop telling me about your murder weapons,’ or, ‘I really shouldn’t know about your assassin activities.’” Lee shook her head. “It’s like she didn’t want to know anything about my life. I mean, I knew that she rode around on a winged Pegasus—”